Time Warped: The Next Generation Picture Show
by Jamie August
Summary: Rocky Horror/Star Trek: TNG crossover. RHPS characters end up on the Enterprise; Frank chases a beefy crewmember; characters make fun of the Author of the story; and the Author ends up trapped in the story and doting on Riff Raff.


_TITLE: Time Warped: The Next Generation Picture Show_

_AUTHOR: Jamie August (oh, god, not her again!)_

_RATING: PG-13 (what, you were expecting a G-rated Rocky Horror fic?)_

_SUMMARY: The Author magically transports several Rocky Horror characters onto the Enterprise. Picard is driven crazy by them (naturally), and Q shows up to mock and insult the Author, and to correct a couple grammatical errors.(self-deprecation is _funny_! duhhhhhh. . .) Then, somehow (no, I'm not telling you how) the Author ends up trapped in the story for a while. You'll either laugh your butt off or decide I was deprived of oxygen as a small child (possibly both). It may not be so funny by the light of day, but at 4 in the morning _everything _is frickin' hilarious. I giggled every time I typed "Ensign Chippendale" and "Loonius Three"._

_DISCLAIMER: Everything Star Trek belongs to Paramount and the Roddenberry family. Everything Rocky Horror belongs to Richard O'Brien (but if he wants to let Riff Raff come by my place later, I won't argue).Ensign Chippendale is my own creation. Pity him. Loonius Three also belongs to me. This story is all in fun and not meant to piss anyone off. I'm not making any money here (*snort* come on, people, you really think anyone would pay for this crap?). I promise to return all these characters to their rightful places when I'm finished. No physical harm came to any character while in my care. However, a moderate amount of emotional scarring was inflicted upon several characters. It was inevitable. I'm a sick, twisted person. I'm sorry. _

_ARCHIVING: yeah, right. if you actually want this trash, you're crazier than i am. Oh, well. As always, ask me. augustdragon81@netscape.net_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: *sigh* Well, it's finally happened. Your humble (ha! *snort, snarf* good one! ha!) author has taken that jump to the left and step to the right and become a Rocky Horror freak. (oh, stop rolling your eyes at me. you know who you are. I know where you live, ya know.) See? This is what happens when I sit at the computer desk all hopped up on sugar and listening to the Rocky Horror soundtrack over and over. No, really, I did write this in its entirety while listening to the soundtrack. (well, okay, I had the soundtrack to Grease going a few times in the beginning. you'll probably be able to figure out where.) Anyhoo, in reading this, it really helps if you're familiar with both ST:TNG and RHPS, and know a little about the audience participation in Rocky Horror. Oh, get back here you wimps! I said it _helps_, not that it's absolutely mandatory. My stories never make any sense to anyone anyway, so who cares? Oh, and if it looks like I'm favoring Riff Raff over all the other RHPS characters(not to mention everyone else), *gasp* you're right! Deal with it._

Holy rusted metal, Batman! There's actually a story down there, under all these pointless ramblings of the deranged author! (i enjoy my smart-ass rantings, can you tell?)   
  


## Time Warped: The Next Generation Picture Show

* * *

  
  
  
  


"No, Doctor. Absolutely not." Captain Picard shook his head emphatically. "No, no, no. I forbid it. In fact, I order you to forget you ever mentioned it."   
  


Doctor Crusher leaned on the captain's desk and smiled. "Oh, c'mon Jean-Luc! It'll be fun. Lord knows fun is something we're running low on around here lately."   
  


"Fun? Fun?! Men in drag running around singing? Orgies in a swimming pool? People getting shot with lasers? No, it reminds me too much of Riker's last birthday party. I absolutely forbid it. That's final, Beverly."   
  


Picard watched the doctor exit his ready-room and sighed. He'd never guessed Crusher would come to him with an idea like this. It had started innocently enough, he supposed. Beverly had entered the room all smiles, enthusiastic over her latest planned production, _The Rocky Horror Show_. After reading over the play, he called her back into the room and proceeded to unleash his outrage on her.   
  


"Doctor, I'm shocked at you! What _is_ this garbage? Where did you find this?"   
  


Crusher shrugged. "It was in the holodeck archives. Apparently it was made into a motion picture in nineteen seventy-five, and it gained a huge 'cult' following. Lighten up, Jean-Luc. It's all in fun. Besides, I wanted you to audition for the part of Riff Raff. You look the part."   
  


Picard glared at the doctor. "Was that a bald joke, Beverly?"   
  


"Well . . . " She tried to hide a smile. "You know, with all the technological advances in this day and age, you'd think somebody would have hit on the cure for baldness."   
  


"Yes, well, after the Rogaine Incident of 2015, I think major corporations were afraid to try again."   
  


"I think you're right." Crusher nodded seriously. "Who would have guessed that Rogaine was actually Borg technology? Then, when all those poor men began growing the implants . . . " she shuddered. "Those poor people."   
  


"Yes. Anyhow, Doctor, I don't want a production of this trash on my ship." Picard crossed his arms over his chest, foolishly thinking that would end the discussion. Of course, it only led to more arguing, until Crusher _finally_ gave in, after much name-calling.   
  


Now the captain sat in his chair, wondering if he should have tried to talk Beverly into a nice production of _Cats_ instead. He quickly dismissed the idea. She was always trying to talk him into auditioning, and the last thing he wanted was to be down on all fours, meowing like a cat. Behavior like that wasn't proper conduct for a starship captain. Well, unless it happened to occur while vacationing on Risa.   
  


Besides, Beverly never had much luck staging musicals. Picard shook his head, remembering last year's disastrous production of _Grease_. For reasons beyond him, the doctor had cast Reg Barclay as Kenickie. During one scene, Reg dropped his switchblade and, just his luck, it stabbed him in the foot. Why Beverly had chosen to use real knives was something Picard still couldn't figure out. She'd managed to patch Barclay up between scenes, but he walked with noticeable trouble through the rest of the play. Recalling how the injured Kenickie had limped through the 'Greased Lightning' dance sequence, the captain cringed.   
  


No, definitely no more musicals.   
  


As Picard stood to return to the bridge, the door chimed and Doctor Crusher ran into the room with a wild look in her eyes. Picard sighed and walked over to meet her in the middle of the room. "Beverly, I thought we were finished here."   
  


"No, Captain, you don't understand. Uh, I think you'd better come with me. Something . . . odd has happened." She flapped her arms, trying to convey how odd this 'something' was.   
  


"What is it, Doctor? And why didn't you simply contact me through the comm system?"   
  


Breathing hard, Beverly knitted her brow. "Well, when I saw . . . them . . . I got so flustered, I just ran on up here. I didn't even think of . . . Oh, nevermind that! Come on!" She grabbed the captain's arm and began pulling him toward the door. "You have to see this for yourself."   
  


"Beverly! I demand to know what's going on!"   
  


The doctor stopped and dropped Picard's arm. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Okay. I'm fine. I was in the auditorium, _trying_ to think of another play the crew would enjoy," she glared at him, "when six people suddenly appeared in front of me. I don't know where they came from."   
  


Picard sighed, exasperated. "Why didn't you sound an intruder alert and let a security team take care of it? It's not as if this is the first time something like this has happened. Why are you so worked up about it this time?"   
  


She laughed. "Oh, believe me, this is the first time _this_ has happened. You won't believe me if I tell you, Jean-Luc."   
  


"Try me," he replied dryly.   
  


"Okay. You asked for it. I believe these six people are characters from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_. They look very much like Brad, Janet, Columbia, Magenta, Riff Raff, and Frank-N-Furter."   
  


Picard winced at the last name before the doctor's statement sunk in. "You believe _what_? No," he held up one hand, "nevermind, please don't repeat it. What exactly did these people say to you?"   
  


Beverly shrugged sheepishly. "Well, uh, they didn't have a chance to say much of anything. I told them to stay right where they were, then I ran straight here."   
  


"Let me get this straight." Picard briefly covered his eyes. "Six people dressed as --" he shuddered "-- _Rocky Horror_ characters appeared out of thin air, and you left them in the auditorium with orders to 'stay right where they are'? Just so we're clear on the matter, that _is _what you're telling me happened?"   
  


"No."   
  


"Thank heavens."   
  


"They're not _dressed_ as the characters. They _are_ the characters. From the motion picture. Other than that, you got it right."   
  


The captain hung his head in defeat, then tapped his comm badge. "Picard to security."   
  


"Worf here," came the Klingon's gruff voice.   
  


"Take a security team and get down to the auditorium _now_, Mr. Worf. Tell Data, Troi, LaForge, and Riker to meet me there."   
  


"Aye, sir."   
  


Beverly looked at the captain, puzzled. "You know, I keep meaning to ask you something. Why is it every time something strange happens, you always call together the same group of crew members? Do we really need Data _and_ Geordi? With all of the senior staff away, who's in charge of the bridge? And --"   
  


"Beverly!" Picard glared at her. "We really don't have time for this. Now, let's go." As they walked to the turbolift, he sighed. "You really want to know? I'm supposed to invite everyone along when something interesting happens so that nobody feels left out. It's part of the new sensitivity training the Federation has instituted for starship captains."   
  


Putting her hand over her mouth, Beverly tried desperately not to snicker as she imagined the captain hugging puppies and kitties, getting in touch with his 'sensitive' side. "Sensitivity training, huh? Well, it's working wonders, Jean-Luc."   
  


Picard entered the turbolift and glanced sideways at Beverly. "Doctor, are you mocking me?"   
  


She shook her head violently. "No. Nope, wouldn't dream of it. Sir."   
  


"Good."   
  


Feeling uncontrollable laughter bubbling up, Beverly buried her face in her hands as the turbolift began to move.   
  


* * *   
  


Picard entered the auditorium and saw that he and the doctor were the last arrivals. He pulled Worf aside and cast a suspicious glance at the people gathered on-stage. They, in return, were glaring suspiciously at him. "Report, Mr. Worf."   
  


"My security team and I arrived here and found these . . . people. We detained them." The big Klingon shrugged. There wasn't that much to tell. "Sir, what is going on? Who are these people?"   
  


"That's what I'm about to find out." He stepped forward, keeping his eye on the young man on stage who was moving forward to meet him. Seeing that the young guy was clad only in a pair of eyeglasses and underwear, Picard fought to keep from rolling his eyes.   
  


"I demand to know what the hell is going on here," Picard and the young man yelled in unison.   
  


"I think that sensitivity training is going really well, Captain," Beverly snickered from her spot near the door.   
  


"Captain?" The underwear-clad guy squinted at him. "Then I assume you're the one in charge here?"   
  


"Yes. I'm Captain Picard, of the Starship _Enterprise_. I'd like to hear an explanation of what you and your," he cleared his throat, "associates are doing on my ship."   
  


The young guy stepped down from the stage and extended his hand. "I'm Brad Majors."   
  


"ASSHOLE!" the entire senior staff shouted.   
  


Picard turned to his crew in shock. "What?! What was the meaning of that? Mr. Data?"   
  


"I do not know, sir." The android looked perplexed. "When he said his name, I was struck by the uncontrollable urge to yell 'asshole'. I cannot explain it, Captain."   
  


"And the rest of you?" Picard glanced around the room. There were assorted nods and mutters of assent from the crew. He sighed. "I apologize, Mr. Majors."   
  


"I'm beginning to get used to it," Brad mumbled. He gestured to a young woman who was also wearing only undergarments. "This is my fiancee, Janet Weiss."   
  


The captain directed a sharp glance at the crew. "If any of you are struck by uncontrollable urges to yell anything, let me know now." When the only response he got was a roomful of stares directed at the floor and the shuffling of several pairs of feet, he nodded. "That's better. Mr. Majors, how did you people come to be here?"   
  


"Well, uh . . . " he shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Ask _them_." He jerked his thumb toward a man and woman dressed in what looked like gold and black sandwich boards.   
  


The man, who was mostly bald but had a strange blond ponytail, stared at Brad for a moment, then turned to the woman beside him and muttered, "The sonic transducer must have malfunctioned. Frank-N-Furter probably got water in it again."   
  


Geordi LaForge edged cautiously forward to look up at the strange man. "This sonic transducer? It is, I suppose, some kind of audio-vibratory physio-molecular transport device, capable of breaking down solid matter and projecting it into space?"   
  


Riker gasped. "You mean --?"   
  


"Yes, Commander." Geordi nodded wisely. "That was the obligatory techno-babble for this story." He paused, then shook his head. "Whoa, where did _that_ come from?"   
  


Picard ignored his crew for the moment, focusing instead on the strangers. There was the half-naked couple, Brad and Janet; the gold-wearing man and woman, who he guessed from reading the story must be Riff Raff and Magenta; a girl dressed in striped shorts and a gold jacket covered in sequins, whom he took to be Columbia; and -- he stopped short and counted again. Brad, Janet, Riff Raff, Magenta, Columbia. Five. He raised his eyebrows and turned to face Beverly.   
  


"Doctor, I thought you said there were six of them."   
  


"Oh, Frankie ran off down the hall chasing some blue guy," Columbia spoke up. She caught Worf's eye and grinned. "Too bad. He should've stuck around. He would've _loved_ you."   
  


Worf growled, and Picard laid a hand on his shoulder. "You mean to tell me this Frank . . . person . . . is running around loose on my ship?"   
  


"Uh-huh." Columbia popped her gum.   
  


"Mr. Worf," Picard began, before being interrupted by his chiming comm badge. He tapped the badge impatiently. "Whatever it is, it will have to wait. I've got a situation here."   
  


"Well, we've got a situation here, too, Captain," Guinan's voice came through the badge. In the background, Picard could hear rapid footsteps and screaming. "There's a man wearing fishnet stockings and _way_ too much make-up here in Ten-Forward, chasing Ensign Chippendale around the room. Picard, did you forget to inform me of this person, or is he another uninvited guest?"   
  


The captain couldn't be sure, but he thought Guinan sounded amused. "Mr. Worf."   
  


Worf nodded. "I will get him, Captain." He motioned to his security team, and they exited the auditorium, heading for Ten-Forward.   
  


"Guinan?" Picard addressed the comm badge again. "Worf and a security team are on the way. Do you think you can keep this man --"   
  


"Frankie," Columbia supplied.   
  


"-- there until security arrives?"   
  


"Well," Guinan began, then was cut off by a loud crashing noise and a voice screaming "Oh, Rocky!" In response to that, a terrified voice screamed back "I'm not Rocky! Leave me alone, you freak!"   
  


Alarmed, Picard whirled to stare at the associates of this person who was wreaking havoc in the bar. Janet and Brad seemed equally alarmed. Riff Raff and Magenta didn't react at all except to look a bit annoyed. Columbia, on the other hand, had fallen to the floor laughing.   
  


"Guinan! What's going on?"   
  


"Worf had better hurry! This man just chased Ensign Chippendale up onto a table." Picard heard another crash, then Guinan shouted, "Hey! You're paying for that! Do you hear me, Mister? Captain, I've got to deal with this. Guinan out."   
  


"Captain, I'm sensing great fear coming from Ten-Forward," Counselor Troi interjected.   
  


Columbia snorted. "Quick one, ain't she?"   
  


Before Deanna Troi could reply, Riff Raff turned and narrowed his eyes at the little redheaded groupie. "Wait. You should be dead. I shot both you and Frank after the floor show."   
  


Shot? He'd shot someone? Commander Riker's hand went automatically to his phaser.   
  


"No, ya didn't." Columbia snapped away at her gum.   
  


"Yes, I did."   
  


"Nope. How could you have? I'm here now."   
  


"I did! I remember!" Riff was becoming agitated. "You were operating the spotlight. And --" he shook his head. "You were clothed differently."   
  


"So I changed. Big deal."   
  


"You couldn't have!" Janet piped up. "I remember now. You and Frank were killed, and Brad and I weren't even in the castle when it took off. What are we doing here? How is this possible, Brad?"   
  


"Captain, I'm sensing great confusion in this room."   
  


"Can't you shut her up?!" Riff shouted.   
  


"Why would you have wanted to shoot me, Riff?" Columbia whined.   
  


"You didn't like me! You never liked me!"   
  


Columbia addressed herself to Magenta. "What the hell is he screaming about now?"   
  


Magenta shrugged while Picard held up his hands. "If I could have everyone's attention, please."   
  


To the captain's dismay, everyone ignored him. Columbia and Magenta began discussing Riff Raff's persecution complex while he searched the floor around him, muttering something about an anti-matter laser. Janet was huddled against Brad, sobbing. Riker had finally noticed Columbia and was spending his efforts trying to catch her eye. Data and Geordi were discussing the sonic transducer and alternate forms of transporter technology. Counselor Troi was holding her head and moaning about confusion, while Dr. Crusher tried to comfort her.   
  


Frustrated, Picard finally threw up his hands and yelled, "Everybody shut up!"   
  


"Silence!" Riff shrieked, then went back to searching for his pitchfork-shaped laser gun.   
  


When he felt he had everyone's attention (or almost everyone; Riker was still making eyes at Columbia, and he wasn't sure Riff Raff was entirely "there" to begin with), the captain dropped his hands and looked in turn at each person present. "That's better. Now," he addressed the _Rocky Horror_ bunch, "none of you is entirely sure how you got here, correct?" They nodded. "And you --" he pointed at Riff "-- shot her --" he moved his finger to Columbia "but now she's fine, and dressed differently than when she was shot. Correct?" Riff nodded. "Okay. Then, I guess you also shot this man named Frank, who is now here, and alive, chasing poor Ensign Chippendale through Ten-Forward. Incidentally, do you know _why_ he's chasing Ensign Chippendale?"   
  


"The master --" Riff caught his slip, remembering that Frank was no longer the master. "Er . . . Frank-N-Furter. . . has certain uncontrollable . . . urges."   
  


"Boy, does he." Columbia nodded.   
  


Picard caught the meaning, and wished he hadn't. He took a moment to compose himself. "All right. Then the two of you --" he indicated Brad and Janet "-- left the . . . castle?" They nodded. "And then it . . . you said it 'took off'?" Janet nodded again. "Explain that, please."   
  


"It took off, out of the ground. Like a big castle-shaped spaceship."   
  


Picard raised an eyebrow and glanced at Riff Raff, who nodded. "We were beaming the entire castle back to the moon-drenched shores of our beloved planet, Transsexual." Riff glared at Brad and Janet. "And _they_ weren't invited."   
  


"Believe me, we didn't want to come," Brad muttered.   
  


"Hold on a minute." Picard held up a hand. "Transsexual?"   
  


Riker giggled.   
  


"The planet of Transsexual, in the galaxy of Transylvania."   
  


"Mr. Data?"   
  


Data took a moment to access his mental stellar cartography files, then shook his head. "There is no such existing planet or galaxy, sir."   
  


Picard nodded. "That's what I thought. Number One, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"   
  


Riker recovered from his giggle-fit and went back to drooling over Columbia. "Uh, I kind of doubt it, Captain."   
  


Sighing, Picard turned back to the _Rocky Horror_ group. "Basically, what you're telling me is that you are in a place it's simply not possible for you to be, with people who should be either dead or someplace else, correct?"   
  


"Captain, I'm sensing redundancy," Deanna chipped in helpfully.   
  


"Counselor, please."   
  


"You _are_ repeating yourself," Magenta pointed out. She and Riff Raff began laughing, then he abruptly stopped. "Shut up!" he told her.   
  


Riker's face suddenly lit up. "Captain, I think I'm thinking what you were thinking! These people are all escaped mental patients from the insane asylum on Loonius Three!" He frowned. "Right?"   
  


"Hey, I resent that!" Brad complained.   
  


"You would," several members of the crew muttered.   
  


Picard tried in vain not to groan. "No, Number One, what I was thinking was, this must be the work of Q. After all, you're forgetting that these people aren't real. They're characters in a twentieth-century movie. And not a very good movie, I might add."   
  


"We're not real? We're not real?!" Columbia jumped down from the stage and slapped Picard across the face. "Is that real enough for ya?"   
  


Rubbing his face, Picard backed away from the girl. Before he could come up with a response, the auditorium door slid open. Worf walked into the room leading a man who Picard could only assume was Frank. The intruder was dressed in an outfit unlike anything the captain had seen before outside of the more tawdry holodeck programs he'd witnessed. Behind Worf, confirming his suspicions, stood Q, who looked around with amusement.   
  


"Jean-Luc! What's the occasion? Why wasn't I invited to this party?"   
  


Frank-N-Furter pulled away from Worf and ran toward the stage, yelling at Riff Raff. "You! How dare you! Oh, you are so lucky I don't have my whip with me."   
  


Riff started to flinch, used to frequent whippings. Then he stopped and stood up straight, pointing down at Frank. "You forget, Frank-N-Furter," he said threateningly, "you have been relieved. I'm your new commander. I'll take no more of your disrespect!"   
  


Picard had had enough of the petty squabbling. Stomping his foot, he screamed, "Enough! Everyone shut up! It's dealing with people like you that made my hair fall out!"   
  


Everyone in the room turned and stared at the captain in shock. Everyone, that is, but Q, who stood in the doorway laughing, and Frank, who sauntered over to Picard and looked him up and down. "Ooh, so forceful! I like that. Too bad you're so . . . hmmph --" he smirked "-- bald."   
  


Picard stared at him for a long moment, fighting the urge to scream again. Finally he collected himself enough to say, very calmly and quietly, "The next person to say a single word is going to receive a phaser blast in the head from me. Okay?"   
  


A bit worried about the captain, Q decided he had to do something. He made a T time-out sign with his hands, and everything froze but Picard and himself. "Jean-Luc, I think we need to have a serious talk."   
  


"Die, you omnipotent scum! Die!" Picard shrieked. He pulled out his phaser and attempted to fire. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working.   
  


Q sighed. "Time is frozen, _mon capitaine._ You can't shoot me. Besides, I think we've established on previous occasions that your puny little phasers can't hurt me. You may as well be using a water pistol." He frowned, considering. "Actually, that would be bad. I don't much care for the water."   
  


"Why are you doing this to me?" Picard moaned.   
  


"You think I'm doing this? Oh, please. This pathetic drivel lacks my _savoir-faire._ Really, I'm disappointed in you for thinking I had anything to do with this.Just how little do you think of me, Jean-Luc?"   
  


Picard chose to ignore the question. "Then what are you doing here, and how did these people get on my ship?"   
  


"Would you really have shot the next person who spoke?" Q asked, truly curious.   
  


"I guess we'll never know. Tell me what you're doing here."   
  


"At the moment, it looks like I'm preventing a massacre and your subsequent court martial. Actually, I was . . . " he trailed off. "I was in the mental ward on Loonius Three, appearing to delusional schizophrenics. Then, without any warning, I was here."   
  


"You don't know how you got here?" An overwhelming sense of dread fell over the captain. "Do you know what's going on?"   
  


Q paused. "Of course I know what's going on. I'm Q, omnipotent being. I know all, I see all. Yadda, yadda, you know the routine. But why should I tell you what's going on? I only came here to watch the fireworks."   
  


"OH, GIVE ME A BREAK, Q." a derisive female voice thundered. "I THINK HE'S ALREADY FIGURED IT OUT, ANYWAY."   
  


Picard shook his head, trying to deny what he was hearing. "Oh, no, not you again."   
  


"WOW, AND IT ONLY TOOK YOU ALMOST TWELVE PAGES TO FIGURE IT OUT." The Author laughed.   
  


Q shook his head. "Kid, I think you're getting a bit big for your proverbial britches. I mean, really," he rolled his eyes, "all capital letters? How cliched of you. You think you're God now?"   
  


"OH, WHO ASKED YOU? I DON'T RECALL INVITING YOU INTO THIS STORY."   
  


"Someone had to protect these people from your sadistic tendencies. Hell, you would have let Jean-Luc go trigger-happy and shoot everyone."   
  


"NOT EVERYONE. I WOULDN'T HAVE LET HIM HURT RIFF RAFF. WHICH REMINDS ME, DID YOU TAKE HIS NEAT LITTLE PITCHFORK-SHAPED LASER THINGIE? I WONDERED WHY HE COULDN'T FIND IT."   
  


Q snorted. "No, that was _your_ mistake. You forgot to write it in. Why don't you show yourself? I despise talking to people I can't see."   
  


Picard curled up on the floor. "This isn't happening," he whispered.   
  


"NO WAY, Q. I'VE NEVER PHYSICALLY WRITTEN MYSELF INTO A STORY, AND I DON'T INTEND TO START NOW. NOBODY'S FORCING YOU TO STICK AROUND, YOU KNOW. WHY DON'T YOU GET OUT OF MY STORY? SINCE WHEN DO YOU CARE ABOUT PROTECTING ANYONE FROM MY SO-CALLED SADISTIC TENDENCIES?"   
  


Looking down at the blubbering captain, Q sighed and froze Picard in time, too. "Look, girl, you're really starting to piss me off. Screwing with these people is _my_ job. I'm not necessarily protecting _them_, per se; I'm simply protecting my own interests. But with you running around dropping every misfit you can think of onto this ship, it's undermining my authority. So you see, I can't just leave you to your twisted devices."   
  


"SCREW YOU, MAN! AND WHERE DO YOU GET OFF FREEZING MY CHARACTERS? HRUMPH."   
  


"_Your_ characters?" Q laughed as the Author unfroze Riff Raff. "Who, him? He's not _your _character. I think you need to have your head examined. Your ego is blocking out all brain function."   
  


"_MY _ EGO? OH, YOU'RE A FINE ONE TO TALK ABOUT EGO. GET OUT OF MY STORY! WHEN I WANT TO WRITE A Q STORY, I'LL LET YOU KNOW!"   
  


"Forget it, honey. You're never going to write a story about me. I won't allow it."   
  


"OH, YEAH? WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING RIGHT NOW?"   
  


Q shook his head. "Get this straight. You are not writing me. You're only talking to me. I showed up of my own accord. And by the way, if you have any sense at all, you'll edit our conversation out of the final draft."   
  


While Q and the Author --   
  


"Oh, would you stop capitalizing 'author'. How pretentious."   
  


As I was _saying_, while Q and the **AUTHOR** argued semantics and insulted each other, Riff Raff tried to figure out what the bloody hell was going on. At first he suspected Frank had used the Medusa to freeze everyone again. Then he noticed that his former 'master' was also frozen, and he felt that theory could safely be dismissed. He listened for a few seconds to the argument going on between Q and some girl he couldn't see before interrupting. "When are you going to send my sister and I back to our planet? I'm growing weary of this place."   
  


Q broke off in the middle of calling the Author a pompous no-talent hack to stare at Riff. "You _have_ no planet! You're just a character in a movie, you idiot! And it's 'my sister and me'!"   
  


"HEY, DON'T CALL HIM AN IDIOT! AND YOU'RE THE POMPOUS ONE, NOT ME."   
  


"You mean 'not _I_'!" Q threw his hands up in the air and disappeared in a blinding flash of light. Unfazed by this, Riff Raff began walking around the room, stopping in front of the frozen Frank to smirk. "Hello, _Master_," he mocked. Snickering, he turbrfzfivldk;vruiehgvnklhbnroiiyiigaejro   
  


ghbureithgbeuihgtbitwehrglw 

HEY! STOP THAT! HELP!!!

yhghjjj74twyugrshjf93845yruohif 

........................... 

........................... 

...........................   
  


Suddenly, in another flash of light, a girl appeared in the auditorium. Riff blinked at her as she whirled around in anger and began to shake her fist and yell.   
  


"Dammit, Q, you can't do this to me! I am the Author of this story! The Author is the omnipotent ruler of this reality; it says so right on the label! When I get back to my computer room, I swear the first thing I'll do is write you into a _Rocky Horror_ story! I'll make you and Frank switch places! Lord knows you share the same ego! I'll make you sorry you ever --" Realizing who was staring at her, she stopped ranting and smiled at Riff Raff. "Hi. I'm the one who unfroze you, you know."   
  


He seemed to take it in stride, looking wholly unimpressed. "Thank you."   
  


The (displaced) Author stared around the room at all the people frozen in place. Tapping her foot, she waited for a minute, then sighed. "Well, Q, are you planning on unfreezing them? Q? Hello? Q?"   
  


The Author and Riff stared at each other for a long moment, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, she stomped her foot and threw herself into a chair. "Great. Just great. He attacks me at my computer desk, writes me into the story, then leaves. You know where he is now? I'll tell you. I bet he's off on Loonius Three again, screwing with the minds of those poor mental patients. Sure, he may be able to do some neat parlor tricks, but he sucks as a writer. You hear that, Q?" she shouted. "You suck as a writer! You sadistic bastard! Now what am I supposed to do?"   
  


"You're the writer," Riff pointed out.   
  


She considered bowing to Riff Raff, Master of the Obvious. "Yeah, so?"   
  


"Write."   
  


The Author scrunched up her nose. "Do you think I can write the story from within the story?"   
  


"Try."   
  


She nodded and pulled a pencil from the back pocket of her jeans. "Glad I have this. I've never quite figured out how to operate those little padd thingies they use here." Riff stared at her blankly, and she shook her head. "Uh, nevermind. Got anything to write on?" She looked him up and down. "No, I guess you probably don't."   
  


After a few seconds, she dropped to the floor and scribbled experimentally on the floor. "This should work." She paused. "What should I write? You know, I don't really want to unfreeze any of them just yet. And I'm not entirely sure I want to write myself home. At least, not for a while. So, any ideas? Hey, do you want your pitchfork-laser-thingie back?"   
  


"It is a laser capable of emitting a beam of pure anti-matter," Riff informed her.   
  


The Author tapped her pencil against the floor and shrugged. "But why is it shaped like a pitchfork?"   
  


"Perhaps you should ask, why is a pitchfork shaped like my anti-matter laser?"   
  


She blinked at him, then grinned. "I knew there was a reason I liked you. Okay, so what should I write?"   
  


Riff considered the question, then dropped to his knees on the floor beside her and began mumbling in her ear. The Author's grin widened until she began laughing. "Scratch that. I knew there was a reason I loved you. Okay." She began writing furiously on the floor, not noticing the surprised look on Riff's face. When she finished writing, they both turned to face Frank. After a moment went by and nothing happened, she frowned. "Why didn't it work?"   
  


Riff leaned over her shoulder to read what she'd written. "You forgot the period."   
  


"Oh. Whoops." The Author blushed, embarrassed at making such a stupid mistake in front of her favorite _Rocky Horror_ person. "I do that sometimes." She leaned over her pencil markings and placed a period at the end of the last sentence. They turned to stare at Frank once again.   
  


A flash of light momentarily blocked Frank from sight. When they could see again, the corset and fishnets, and everything else the sweet transvestite had been wearing, were gone. He now wore a pair of khaki pants and a blue cardigan sweater. The make-up disappeared from his face, and his hair was styled short and neat. On his feet were a pair of brown loafers. As if that weren't enough, a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses had appeared on his face.   
  


The Author burst out laughing again. "Aw, that was really mean. Now he looks like Mister Rogers."   
  


Riff smiled coldly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I've wanted to do that for years."   
  


She stared at the frozen Mister Rogers-esque Frank, then turned back to Riff. "Can I ask you something? Doesn't this mess with your sense of reality at all?"   
  


"After living with him --" he lifted his chin toward Frank "-- for so long, reality takes on a new meaning."   
  


"Hmm, I see what you mean." Nodding, she suddenly remembered the captain. Gazing past Riff, she saw Picard still frozen in the fetal position on the floor. "Well, that's just pathetic. I can't believe Q did that. I never meant for him to freeze Picard. I'm gonna have to do something about that." She put the pencil to the floor and began scribbling madly, cackling as she wrote.   
  


With bright flashes of light, people began disappearing from the auditorium. Soon, only Picard, Frank, Magenta, Riff Raff, and the Author were left in the room. Riff looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "Where did you send them?"   
  


"Well, the crew of the _Enterprise_ are back on the bridge where they belong. Brad and Janet are at a fund-raising carnival back in Denton. He's getting pies thrown at his face, and she's getting dunked into a tub of very cold water. I put Columbia backstage at a Meat Loaf concert. I'm sure she'll be thrilled, although it'll probably confuse the hell out of _him_." The Author glanced over at Picard again. "I'm not really sure I should unfreeze him while you're still here. He seems pretty unstable right now."   
  


"To say the least."   
  


"Of course, I suppose that's my fault." She shrugged sheepishly. "I have this long history of driving him crazy. In the last story I put him in, I made him deal with drunken computer geeks and do the 'Macarena'."   
  


Riff raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"   
  


The Author considered her answer. "Well, it's nowhere near as cool as the 'Time Warp', I'll tell you that. Anyway, I have to admit, I think I crossed the line this time." She stared down at the tortured expression on the captain's face. "Uh, scratch that. I _definitely_ crossed the line. Poor Jean-Luc. I seem to have a bit of an impulse-control problem sometimes."   
  


Riff looked from the girl to Frank, then back again. He was getting the distinct impression he'd gone from the frying pan directly into the fire. "Sounds like somebody I know," he muttered.   
  


Seeing where his gaze was directed, the Author pouted. "Hey, I'm nothing like him! Come on, I'm not dangerous." Fuming over Riff's comment, she sat back and stared up at him. After a moment of silence, she decided to let it go. She pointed to Frank. "So what do you want me to do with him? I mean, he _is_ your prisoner now, right? Just please don't kill him again. I make it a point not to kill anyone in my stories."   
  


One side of Riff's mouth curled up in either a smile or a sneer, it was sort of hard to tell which. "No? You only drive them insane?" While the girl fumbled for a good response, he stood and crossed his arms over his chest. "Allow me to confer with my sister."   
  


The Author looked over her shoulder at the still-frozen Magenta and sighed. "Do I have to? I kind of liked having you all to myself."   
  


Wondering about the sanity of this Earthling, he glared at her. "Do it."   
  


"All right, all right." Sulking, she leaned over and began to write again, muttering unintelligible things under her breath as she did so. Pausing in mid-sentence, she seriously considered writing Magenta out the nearest airlock. However, one quick glance up at Riff Raff convinced her that would be a very bad idea.   
  


After the familiar flash of light (which was entirely unnecessary, but the Author thought it looked cool), Riff stepped up onto the stage and began speaking to his sister in a voice too low for the Author to make out. Getting bored with waiting for their conversation to end, she put the pencil back to the floor and dashed off another few sentences, really digging the cool flash of light as Picard unfroze.   
  


The captain sat up and looked around, dazed. When his eyes landed on her, he began scooting away on his butt. "Who the hell are you? Where is my crew?" He spotted Frank. "And what the devil happened to him?"   
  


She yawned. "Those are such boring questions, Jean-Luc. But I may as well answer, seeing as how those two are too wrapped up in their conversation to pay attention to me." She stared at Riff and Magenta, who were indeed in the middle of what looked like a heated debate. She turned back to Picard. "Let's see. Where to begin? I'm the Author of this story. I --"   
  


"You?" he interrupted. "What are you doing _here_?"   
  


"Blame Q." She scowled. "That's a long story. I'll send you a copy. Anyway, as for your crew, they're safe and back on the bridge. Don't worry about them. And, as far as Frank is concerned," she grinned, "Riff Raff and I just had a little fun with him. I think he looks a bit like the neighborhood pharmacist now, don't you?"   
  


Picard held his head in his hands. "I wouldn't know."   
  


The Author cocked her head, studying the cardigan-clad Frank. "Either that or the neighborhood child-molester."   
  


Thankfully, before Picard could respond to the girl, whom he'd long ago decided was clinically insane, Riff Raff and Magenta stepped down from the stage. "We've come to a decision," Magenta told the Author.   
  


"Frank-N-Furter is to return with us to Transsexual." Riff said this reluctantly; clearly it hadn't been his idea. "He is to remain frozen in time and on display on the steps of the capitol building. Indefinitely. Exactly as he is now. He will serve as a warning to those who would think of following in his footsteps. This way, we hope to avoid any more . . .unfortunate incidents."   
  


"Whoa. That's cold." The Author raised her eyebrows. "On second thought, maybe killing him would be more humane."   
  


Riff's mouth twitched as he took a step toward Frank. "If you insist."   
  


"No!" Picard and Magenta shouted together. Magenta grabbed her brother's arm. "Not again," she admonished him.   
  


"No one is going to kill anyone on my ship."   
  


The Author rolled her eyes. "You keep saying _your_ ship. Doesn't it actually belong to the Federation?" Picard gave her a _Look_ and she held her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, forget I said anything." She turned back to Riff and Magenta. "So, I really have to write you guys back to your home?" They nodded. "Damn. Can I come with you?"   
  


"Oh, lord," Picard muttered, shaking his head. "Why would you want to?"   
  


"You're the writer," Magenta said. Riff snickered.   
  


She resisted the sudden impulse to stick her tongue out at Magenta. "Yes. I'm the writer. I believe we established that fact several pages ago."   
  


"What my sister means to say is, it seems you have the power to come with us if you wish, without needing to ask our consent."   
  


"Yeah, I know that. But I don't want to tag along where I'm not wanted."   
  


Picard's eyebrows shot nearly off the top of his head. "Since when? You show up here to torment my crew whenever you damn well feel like it!"   
  


This time she didn't bother resisting the urge to stick out her tongue. "So I'm reforming, okay? Or maybe I like them better than I like you, ever think of that?"   
  


Picard sighed as Riff and Magenta began laughing. The Author leaned over and scribbled something on the floor, then stood up. "Okay, okay, fine. You know what? I'll just write myself back home. Tonight is _X-Files_ night, and I forgot to set my VCR." She faced Riff and Magenta. "Can I come visit you sometime? I'll promise to behave."   
  


They glanced at each other and slowly nodded. "We don't mind if you take that step to the right," Riff said.   
  


The Author grinned, thrilled. "But it's the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane," she quoted from 'Time Warp'.   
  


"I think you're already there," Picard muttered.   
  


Magenta and Riff Raff watched as the Author crouched to scrawl their exit scene on the floor. Then she paused and stood up, temporarily neglecting the final period at the end of the paragraph.    
  


***************************SCENE MISSING**************************

**THE FOLLOWING SCENE HAS BEEN OMITTED TO PROTECT THE DIGNITY OF THE AUTHOR. SUFFICE IT TO SAY, THERE WAS A LOT OF BLUBBERING ON HER PART. AT ONE POINT, SHE MAY HAVE TRIED TO THROW HERSELF AT RIFF RAFF, BUT WE'RE NOT REALLY SURE. THE AUTHOR WON'T TALK ABOUT IT, AND RIFF COULDN'T BE REACHED FOR COMMENT. AT ANY RATE, WE'RE RELATIVELY CERTAIN SHE MADE A PRETTY PATHETIC SPECTACLE OF HERSELF. HOWEVER, THE WAY WE HEAR IT, SHE DID WONDERS FOR RIFF RAFF'S SELF-ESTEEM, AND AS A RESULT, HE NO LONGER SUFFERS FROM A PERSECUTION COMPLEX. MAGENTA, ON THE OTHER HAND, WAS LAST SEEN TRYING TO CONVINCE HER BROTHER TO PUT OUT A RESTRAINING ORDER ON THE GIRL.**

***********************************************************************   
  


Picard stared at the Author, shocked at the pathetic spectacle she'd just made of herself. She glared at him, wiping her eyes. "Oh, what are you looking at?"   
  


"Nothing," he quickly responded. The Federation sensitivity training had taught him to never fight with a crying girl. There was simply no way to win. Wait, maybe he hadn't learned that in sensitivity training. He thought for a second. No, he'd learned that in relationship training. He shrugged. Oh, well. Whatever. "Uh, thank you for getting them off my ship." He paused to scratch his head. Boy, was this ever awkward. "Would you like some Earl Grey tea?"   
  


"I don't drink tea. But thanks anyway." She wrote something on the floor, then looked up and smirked at him. "See you on Loonius Three."   
  


"Hey, wait a minute!" he yelled as she disappeared in the biggest flash of light he'd ever seen. "Get back here! You are _not_ going to write me into a story about Loonius Three, do you hear me? Why do you torment me? What have I ever done to you? Hey! Hey -!"   
  


* * * 

THE EN - -   
  


"Well, _that_ was truly pointless."   
  


"OH, SHUT UP, Q. I'M REALLY IN NO MOOD."   
  


"Tell me, did you ever have a plot, or was this just an excuse to act out your twisted little fantasies?"   
  


"HEY YOU OMNIPOTENT JERK, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO PUT ME IN THE STORY. IF NOT FOR THAT, MY STORY WOULD HAVE PROGRESSED WITH THE INTENDED PLOT. BUT NOOOOOOO, YOU JUST HAD TO GO AND SCREW ME UP, DIDN'T YOU? AND AS FOR MY 'TWISTED LITTLE FANTASIES', YOU EDITED OUT THE ONLY THING THAT EVEN CAME CLOSE."   
  


"You should thank me for that. I saw what happened. Blubbering like a baby while telling that freak good-bye. And what was that neck-sucking thing all about? I can't believe you let him do that. Good lord. Leaving that scene in would only have humiliated you later. You really should thank me; editing it out was the best thing I could have done for you."   
  


"THANK YOU." The Author's voice dripped with sarcasm. "THERE, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?"   
  


"Ecstatic. And who knows? Maybe next time I'll help you with an actual plot."   
  


"OH, BITE ME."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_**********THE END (really. i promise.)**********_   
  


_(c)2001 Jamie August_   
  


Comments, please? *sweet, hopeful smile* 

Oh, by the way, who is it that has me on Author Alert? Just curious. . . . let me know, okay?   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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